


Secret Hope

by WonderWafles



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Feänorians after the war, Gen, Tolkien Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWafles/pseuds/WonderWafles
Summary: Nerdanel is, she suspects, among the last to receive word - the ships are coming home. The Elves are returning at last.She knows she will likely be disappointed. But she can't help but hope.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	Secret Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avantegarda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/gifts).



> My Tolkien Secret Santa for avantegarda! I'm finally getting around to posting it on AO3. Enjoy :)

News of Middle Earth only trickled in slowly, like a river gone dry. It had been that way since the end of the First Age and the War of Wrath, when Elves had come en masse from over the Sea to settle in Aman.

Nerdanel had watched them all, then, although she didn’t make it look like she was. She carved a relief of their return, of ships coming into Alqualondë, on a piece of ivory.

Since then, art historians had debated why there were no visible Elves in the work, only ships. Nerdanel had thought it obvious, and refused to answer any questions about the subject, on the rare occasions when some of them became bold enough to come to her little cottage in the hills.

In any case, the country around Nerdanel's cottage was still more often than not, and when it was disturbed, it was often her father, come to bring supplies and metals she'd requested. She visited Tirion only rarely, to meet with her family and little else.

This suited her. In quietude she did her best work.

Her pieces after the Flight were reserved, more realistic. She took up painting for a short while, but even as she grew to master it she could tell it was not her art.

It took her a while to find her way back to sculpting, though.

…

On that morning Nerdanel was woken by the sound of something far more annoying than birds - Elves.

Mahtan? she asked herself, because sometimes her father was very loud. Sometimes he would drop something - wood he was bringing, more often than not - and it would be unclear if his shouting or the sound of the log escaping down the hill was louder.

But no. This was far more than that, and far more than one Elf, in any case.

She went to her window and drew it open. As the light poured in, she became aware of the fact that she was not going to be going back to sleep.

The hills were alive, if only sleepily. The Elves walked, pranced, or otherwise migrated in groups no bigger than five. She would catch one or two at a time, sometimes mingling, most times keeping to themselves.

They looked happy. Mostly.

She pulled the curtain over her window and shrugged to herself. The only thing that mattered was that they left her alone.

She lay back down on the bed, despite her previous realization, and filled her head with thoughts of the day. Progress she could make on her sculpture, a letter she could send to Indis about visiting later that month.

None of this materialized as she continued to lay there. The faint sound of laughter carried over the fields and drifted, gently, through her window.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Dammit," she said. She was now curious.

…

Away to the north, before the gentle plains of Valinor gave way to the chill lands of Araman, there was a forest that had become the home of many Avari and Sindar who did not wish to relinquish their old way of life.

Yavanna had tended it since. In the ages since Nerdanel has lived here, the forest has grown from a smear on her horizon to loom over her house like one of the great dark walls of Beleriand's mightiest fortresses.

She traded with the forest Elves, sometimes, but for the most part, they liked to keep to themselves. 

Now, though, some of the Elves making their way through the fields where Sindar or even Avari. Sometimes they crossed paths with Noldor or Teleri, and talked like old friends.

Nerdanel had never seen anything like it. The grudges of the old days had long been buried, but she had thought the Elves of Middle Earth and the Elves of Aman would always have a divide between them. Born not of hostility, but merely time and culture and pain.

Perhaps -

She was moving before she realized it. The fields of golden flowers crumpled beneath her feet before springing up again in her wake.

The sound of laughter grew closer. A pair of Elves appeared in her vision, walking, talking, holding hands.

"Greetings," one of them said to her, her voice light. Her hair was golden. Were these Vanyar?

"Greetings," Nerdanel responded. Her tongue felt weird, her words heavy. She hadn't spoken to another soul in almost a month.

"Are you journeying to Alqualondë, too?" The other woman asked her. Her hair was fair to the point of almost being white, and her skin was dark. More Teleri than Vanyar, Nerdanel guessed.

"Journeying?" Nerdanel asked. She narrowed her eyes. "What's happening at Alqualondë?"

The two women looked at one another uncertainly, as if they had happened upon a simpleton. Nerdanel bristled with impatience and prepared to snap at them. But she held her tongue.

"Why," the blonde one said. "You haven't heard? The exiles are coming home."

Nerdanel shook her head. "The exiles came home a long time ago," she said.

"The rest are coming home," the Teler said. She grinned like nothing in the world could make her happier than saying those words. "The power of the Rings in Middle Earth is broken. Sauron has fallen. The Elves return."

The Rings? Nerdanel wondered. She had heard the stories, of course. The resurfacing of Sauron, and his deception of her grandson. Arafinwë and Indis had kept her as updated as possible, when they saw her.

More pain for my family. She shoved the thought out of her mind.

"Our cousins from across the sea," the Teleri said, which is when Nerdanel realized by her accent that she wasn't Teleri. She was a particularly tall Avari - even curiouser. “The rest of the Noldor. They’re coming back.”

Nerdanel wanted to say something, but it felt like she was frozen. Her tongue formed words, but none of them would come out. 

“The Noldor?” she managed, nonchalantly, she hoped. “All of them?”

The Vanya nodded. She seemed to squeeze the other woman's hand more tightly. "They say," she said conspiratorially, "that Artanis will be returning with them."

Arafinwë's daughter, she thought dimly. What did that make her? Her niece? Grand-niece?

Still, it was a sign that this woman knew even less than she did. Even Nerdanel knew that Artanis went by Galadriel now - although she was privileged by her acquaintance with Arafinwë, conversations with whom could not go by without news of his daughter in Middle Earth being mentioned at least once.

The Avari brightened. "Would you like to walk with us?" she asked. "For a while, at least."

Nerdanel was just about to ask. She was glad she didn't have to.  
…

Their pace was unhurried - they explained that the arrival of the ships was likely at least a month away. It would take a week to reach Alqualondë on foot, if they quickened their pace.

But, they explained, the point was that something of a festival had grown up around the port city, and Elves of all kinds had come to welcome their kindred home.

Nerdanel left a note for Mahtan, although she was sure word would reach him eventually. Besides that, she made no preparations, no ordering of her house. It would be here when she got back. None of it was as important as those ships.

They traveled night and day, making no distinction between when the sun was out and when the stars shone above them. They slept only when they felt like it. The days were warm without being blistering, and the nights were cool and temperate.

Nerdanel thinks she likes the nights best. The Eldar are the people of the stars, after all, and her father told her many stories of the Night in Middle Earth that came before day, when the darkness was fearless.

“Who are you expecting?” Nerdanel felt bold enough to ask one night. The two women - Wiryarë and Kinnlel - were curled around one another, beginning to settle down to sleep.

“I?” Wiryarë asked. “Not many. All of the Noldor I care for returned at the end of the War. Kinnlel, however…”

She nudged her wife. Kinnlel looked at Nerdanel, her expression not entirely comfortable, and Nerdanel began to wonder if she had overstepped.

“Many of my cousins remained on Middle Earth,” she said. “I was one of the few who left, an Age ago.”

When Elves left for Valinor without their family with them, that never boded well for their time on Middle Earth. Now Nerdanel was sure she was probing a wound that was not meant for her.

“Now I hope that they will come,” she said. “They loved the Earth, all of them. But I hope.”

They lapsed into silence. Wiryarë rubbed Kinnlel’s back and Nerdanel looked up at the sky and thought about a pool of water they had passed, that was probably a lake in wetter seasons. It was filled with stars as night fell. She resolved that, if she ever took up painting again, that lake would be first.

“What about you?” Kinnlel asked. “Who do you wait for?”

They had not asked her name. She would have given it if they had. None in Valinor bore her a grudge - besides Feänor, maybe, or more heartbreakingly, her sons.

She feared that far more than the judgment of strangers. But now she hesitated. She didn’t want to disturb the peace of this night. 

“My brother,” she lied. Lying came both easy and difficult to her, like coaxing a shape out of stone. The path was obvious, but incredibly easy to fall off of if your hand was not steady. “He settled in Lindon after the War, and then Rivendell, and has not been convinced to leave since. He was happy there, I think.” She paused. The words would not come anymore.

Her companions found that satisfactory. “Sleep well,” Wiryarë told her. “Tomorrow we will be meeting with some friends of ours.”

Her lie was immediately in jeopardy. She couldn’t help but find it funny, and though her new friends asked her what she was laughing at she couldn’t say.

…

“There!” Kinnlel said, pointing at the horizon.

Nerdanel squinted. Her eyesight was marginally worse than many of the other Elves, which her father never tired of attributing to her late nights working on sculpture. As if he were any better.

A figure rose a hand in greeting. The figure separated into two, which began making their way down the ridge.

This far east, Nerdanel could smell the sea. It wasn’t much longer now. She had been gone for nearly two weeks now, but she didn’t mind the delay. 

As the figures approached, Nerdanel frowned. 

“How do you know them, again?” she asked Kinnlel.

“Kinnlel!” the Man yelled, throwing his arms up. If she didn’t know him better, Nerdanel would have guessed he was angry with the other Elf.

“It’s good to see you again, Tuor,” Kinnlel said, throwing her arms around him. Idril smiled appraisingly at Wiryarë, before stopping on Nerdanel. Her smile deepened, and a new curiosity entered her eyes. 

She bowed slightly to Nerdanel, in a style meant for greeting a courtier or one of nobility. She didn’t say anything, however, and nobody seemed the wiser.

“How long has it been?” Tuor demanded of his foster-mother, a one-time comrade of Annael. “Really, I’ve forgotten.”

“That’s because you never visit.”

“I visit!”

“Sure. Once a century or so.” She pinched his cheek like a mother, although the immortal Man looked like he might have been twice her age, by the reckoning of both Men and Elves. When he smiled, though (which he did often), neither the wrinkles nor the beard made him look older than a young man, out on a marvellous adventure.

Nerdanel realized she had been distracted in studying him. It would be interesting to attempt a sculpture of him, she thought. She had tried to do so with Men before, only by the descriptions of the Elves from Beleriand, but had never been satisfied with the results.

“And this is our friend,” Wiryarë said, gesturing towards Nerdanel. She realized she had missed out on a good portion of the conversation. “She joined us not far from Tirion.”

“A pleasure,” Tuor said, and held out his hand in a Mannish greeting. Nerdanel knew enough to grasp it in return. His hand was strong and calloused, still, although he could have let it soften from life in Valinor.

“And this is my wife!” Tuor said, gesturing to Idril.

Idril raised an eyebrow at him. For a moment, Nerdanel had an absurd fear that she was going to break her cover.

“Most Elves know who I am, melmë,” she said. She smiled fondly at him. 

“Indeed,” Nerdanel said, finally returning Idril’s bow. “Lady Idril.” Idril stared back at her with barely disguised amusement.

They sat on the grass and ate some of the food Kinnlel and Wiryarë had made. Kinnlel had insisted that Tuor and Idril have some.

Honeyed bread, with brisket made from meat from Oromë’s hunting grounds. It amused Nerdanel considerably to see Kinnlel, an Avari of no notable blood, ply Idril Celebrindal with a second serving to “put meat on her bones”.

As night fell, Wiryarë asked the obvious question. “Will you be going to meet the ships?”

There was no need to explain what she meant. “We will be,” Tuor said. “I hear Elrond will be returning.”

That was a name which took Nerdanel a moment or two to remember. “In the meantime,” Idril continued, “we are heading to Elwing’s tower. We wish to visit her and pass the message on to our son.”

Nerdanel swallowed. She waited a few moments, until she was sure her voice would not betray her. “Will they come to meet the ships?”

“Likely not,” Tuor said. “Elwing may, but I think she would rather her son come to meet her in her tower.”

Idril and Tuor were silent. Nerdanel felt guilty for her few moments of relief at the news.

Still, it was not a topic she knew anything about or could speak of. She glanced away as the silence probed the edge of being awkward.

"So," Kinnlel said. "Are you coming with us, or what?"

"A fine idea!" Tuor boomed, seemingly himself again.

"Is that alright with you, Wiryarë?" Idril asked.

"For Eru's sake, Idril," Wiryarë said. "You're my friends too."

The little group laughed and embraced each other. Nerdanel sat on the grass and felt the wind in her hair and listened to laughter drift over the breeze.

…

Tuor and Idril wished to detour northwards, towards Elwing's tower, before proceeding to Alqualondë. 

Nerdanel had no objections to the delay, but a shiver ran down her spine at the idea of seeing Elwing again.

They had met only once, in Tirion, at her and her husband's formal reception in Valinor. Elwing was skinny, suspicious, and standoffish.

When Arafinwë introduced her as the mother of the Sons of Feänor (who had latterly, evidently, been given a capital letter to refer to them by), Nerdanel had not seen the need to feel any kind of shame.

Instead, she was oblivious to Eärendil and Elwing's stiffened features in her haste to speak to the returned ambassadors from Middle Earth. She asked how her sons were.

It was embarrassing, but no one blamed her and she was not going to blame herself. She only wished, in hindsight, that her meeting with them had gone better.

Especially as they drew closer to Elwing's tower now.

"Excuse me, friend," Idril said as they came closer. "May we speak?" She touched Nerdanel's arm.

It was noon. The group had been walking all night. Nerdanel liked that now, especially. The stars comforted her.

"Of course," Nerdanel said.

They wandered away, towards the beach. The sea's crash was especially violent today, Nerdanel thought. Perhaps Ossë was upset, as she was.

They walked in silence for some moments. Idril was a woman of few words at times.

"If you would rather remain behind," Idril said, eventually. "Nobody would blame you."

Nerdanel shook her head. "I have to meet with her eventually," she said. "Frankly I should have done so sooner. But I have been busy."

Idril shrugged. "It's your choice, of course."

"And I am not worried about her breaking my cover, of course," she said, finally throwing Idril a bone.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Idril said. "Any reason for secrecy?"

Nerdanel knew that Idril already guessed the answer. She did not bother pointing out that she had never lied about who she was, nor did she intend to.

"It would be impossible to say who I am and not have people guess why I am going to the Havens," she said. "Who I am hoping to see."

Idril shook her head. "That was thousands of years ago," she said.

"And yet to many Elves, all too recent," Nerdanel countered quickly.

"Maybe," Idril said. "Maybe to you as well."

"I wish it was too recent when the memory of my sons was fresh and untainted."

Idril sighed, but stayed next to Nerdanel. It was this which made her a good confidante - she did not miss a step when the stubbornness of a friend was an obstacle.

Eventually they came to the middle of the beach. They stopped, by unspoken consensus, and let the waves come and go before them.

Elwing's tower stood in the distance. They had walked further than Nerdanel had thought. She couldn't help but frame its shape in her mind. A template for a future sculpture.

"All I mean to say is, do not think you have to do anything you don't want to," Idril said. "Nor do you need to feel guilt for wanting to meet someone you love at the shore. Almost everyone in Aman feels the same."

When Nerdanel didn't respond, Idril pressed just a little further. "You remember Maeglin," she said.

"Of course." A quiet young quende who had only been released a century ago. He had since nearly vanished to live by himself, near Araman in the north. She knew of his history, of course - everyone did - but it was difficult to see it now.

“Ever since Aredhel was reembodied I have been close to her. I should say, once again close to her. When Maeglin came back… do you think I begrudged her for wanting to see her son again?”

Nerdanel cast her gaze down towards the sand. 

“Let it not be said that I forgive him,” Idril said, a small smile on her face. “But I don’t need to. Aredhel is entitled to her love, whatever else may come.”

She placed a hand on Nerdanel’s shoulder, and squeezed it slightly. “Think about it,” Idril said. “In the meantime, we’ll be with Elwing. You don’t have to join us if you don’t want to.”

As she walked away, Nerdanel thought about the first time she had met Idril, when she was just a girl, Nolofinwë's granddaughter. Nerdanel had known that she had grown much for ages now, but it still sometimes surprised her.

In the end, she sat on the beach until the others were done, watching the tower on the cliff. In her mind's eye, she was hewing it from stone, watching it take form before her.

…

In the end, Elwing didn't come. Tuor and Idril were disappointed, but not surprised. As they sat around the fire, Tuor said,

"I only wish I knew what bothered her. Maybe then I could help."

Idril quirked an eyebrow at Nerdanel, and all of a sudden she thought she understood.

"Time will tell," Kinnlel mouthed around a chunk of bread. "And we have time, here."

Tuor nodded, but didn't say anything. Nerdanel wondered if he, of all people, ever forgot that. That he had time, now.

…

They reached Alqualondë about a week after the festival had already begun.

Thor and Idril were greeted as royalty. Metaphorically speaking - Idril had no claim over the city of the Teleri, even had she wanted to exercise it.

Wiryarë, Kinnlel, and Nerdanel were welcomed on a more even footing. Kinnlel was grabbed by a handful of her Teleri cousins and Wiryarë made her excuses to speak to another Vanya who had been living here for some centuries.

Nerdanel was left on her own again, for the first time in weeks. She couldn't help but feel gratified.

She made her way through the streets. The sound of people celebrating, dancing, playing, laughing, didn't quite drown out the sea, lapping against the shore visible from the city limits. Around her, people talked in Telerin, which she was rusty in.

The sea, too, was full. Boats made their way to and from the elaborate, twisting docks, sails full-white and reflecting the brilliance of the sun. Ossë had evidently been tempered, and the sailing looked easy.

Nerdanel had never been tempted by boating before, but the Teleri made it look like pure freedom.

A young elleth came up to her, holding up a crown of flowers in her hands. Nerdanel took it hesitantly. 

"Hello," the girl said in Noldorin. "Are you enjoying the festival?"

Nerdanel placed the crown on her head. The girl in front of her reminded her strongly of Tyelkormo when he was young. The gifts of the wilderness, flowers, intricate leaves and so forth, added to the similarity.

“To be honest,” Nerdanel told her, “I find myself wanting for something to do.”

The girl nodded, as though she had heard this before. “Come and talk to Olwë,” she said. “He can give you that.”

The girl romped away, more crowns slung over her shoulder. Nerdanel stood at the docks for a while longer, staring out at the sea. She took the crown out and examined it.

Flowers from the gardens of Valmar. Common in festival crowns, they could only indicate strength and renewal. Strong, hardy flowers that grew by the ocean were woven into them. Some thought they were gifts from Ulmo, although flowers were not his suit, and others that they were brought over from Middle Earth on Tol Eresseä.

Either way, they were commonly associated with survival. Nothing grand or glorious, but the mere act of remaining standing after the storm has passed. Unsurprisingly, they became favored in the years after the Darkening.

She held in her hands a few moments more before turning towards Olwë’s palace, where the king and his sons still lived after the ages passed from the years of the Trees, and where his daughter still spent much of her time.

Eärwen happened not to be here today, and Nerdanel received no indication of where she - and the rest of the surviving Finweans - were. Instead, she was ushered through hallways of pearl and salt, brushed to the finest grain, to the point where she could hardly distinguish between the two.

One of Olwë’s sons did a double take upon seeing her. He greeted her with all the correct courtesy, but still couldn’t chase the surprise from his eyes.

“Um, hello,” he said, once the formalities were over. “It’s good to see you here.”

“It’s always good to see me,” Nerdanel said drily. “What makes here especially good?”

“The lighting, I would imagine,” he replied.

Nerdanel laughed. This one was sharp. It made her feel a little worse about not remembering his name.

Eventually she was placed into a smallish room, lit only by the glow of lamps made of seaglass. It was enough to lend the space a warm feeling. She didn’t mind being left behind as the other Elves went off to do more important tasks than guiding her around the place.

She did not have to wait long. The King’s entrance was something of an anticlimax. He veritably slumped in, looking beleaguered even in the low light, and took his seat as if by custom. A handful of courtiers followed him like gnats.

Still, he brightened when he saw her. “Nerdanel,” Olwë said warmly from his seat. It was a seat, not a throne, although it was still intricately designed, inlaid with patterns and waves that made it look like a swell of water, frozen in time and delicately shaped into something suitable for an Elf to sit on.

She stopped herself from being distracted by it this time. “King Olwë,” she said, and bowed.

“So, you would like to make yourself useful?” Olwë asked.

Nerdanel blinked. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess!” Olwë tilted his head back and laughed. Some of the courtiers around him joined in, although none of it seemed forced. Joy came freely in Alqualondë. “Your reputation precedes you, craftswoman.”

She grinned at him. “Then what would you have me do?”

…

The next few weeks were something of a blessing.

Nerdanel missed the road, sometimes. But she couldn’t deny it was difficult, not having something to work in her hands, making no progress on any of her projects. 

Olwë needed her for much. She would wonder how they got on without her, if it she didn’t suspect they knew she was coming and had prepared these tasks for her.

She was in charge of the aesthetic space of the port - which vendors could be allowed to set up where, where visitors hoping to greet the arrivals could wait, where those pushed out by lack of space would be placed. She did something about the signs and placards that talked of coming home at last, as the Sindar, Silvan, and Avari had understandable qualms with it.

Many more Elves arrived from around the continent. Elves returning home was by now not a new phenomenon, but the fact that this was merely the first wave of all Elves in Middle Earth coming to Valinor brought them en masse. It was an administrative nightmare.

It was something like art. Through all her centuries Nerdanel had somehow never come across urban planning as a hobby, but she thought she liked it. Herding people was not unlike coaxing a shape from stone, when you thought about it.

A shadow remained, however. Something that could not be assuaged by distraction, like razor wire tightening around her heart. The thought of the ships’ arrival only brought it tighter.

After the war ended, she had - not so much contented herself, but at least made herself accept the reality that she might never see her sons again.

Would Mandos release the six of her boys who had died over the sea? Would they languish like Feänor? So far, all she had been able to gather was that all of them were damaged by their time in Beleriand. None of them were ready to come back yet.

At first she had raged at this. She was convinced it was just a fable of Manwë’s, meant to explain why none of these problematic Elves could come back even after the banishment was lifted. She spread her theory to all who would listen, and knocked on the golden halls of Valmar more than once for an audience with Manwë.

This she was granted - through means of a very embarrassed looking Eonwë. The momentary awe of facing the King of Arda was averted, not that it would have deterred her, and she had demanded for her sons’ return.

The Maia met her with kind, but determined resistance, occasionally disappearing from some time and reappearing with new answers. It was not up to his master, he insisted. It was not even really up to Námo. It was up to her sons. And they were not ready.

As time wore on, she didn’t grow any more inclined to believe him. But she did stop asking for their release, and focused on her requests to be allowed to see them. There was more than one way to move a mountain. Patience would do for now.

The point was - if the care of Mandos couldn’t help her sons, then what hope did Makalaurë have, wandering Middle Earth by himself?

Sweet, gentle, musical Makalaurë. Her insides froze solid at the thought of what time had done to him.

The idea that he might not even be on any of the boats nearly stopped her heart. She focused on party planning instead.

…

The day came without much fanfare.

Nobody was quite sure when or how the ships would be coming. As time passed, Maiar would bring some word of how far out the ships were. The day was today, most presumed, although in seafaring nothing was certain.

A blue-robed Maia of Varda, who seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, came in the shape of a bird above the streets of the city. She landed in the midst of the port, making sure all eyes were drawn to her as she shed her old form and took on the aspect of an Elf.

“Ahem,” she said. “The first ships are no more than an hour away from docking.”

Cheers went up. Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri crowded around her, straining to see the Maia, although all could hear her fine. Nerdanel felt her stomach lurch.

“Patience, friends!” the Maia said, lifting up her arms. “Please remember that the returning Exiles will be disoriented, and especially so for those who have never seen the shores of Aman. Be patient with them! They will need much help!”

Another cheer went up. This responsibility was lost in the midst of all the excitement, although Nerdanel felt it keenly.

The bird flew away, and something like a true festival descended upon Alqualondë. Nerdanel hadn’t seen its like since the days of the Trees, although in fairness, she had not been to many parties.

Elves intoxicated themselves on honey-wine and climbed the low-built homes and buildings of Alqualondë’s shore. They made music and sang shanties slightly too dirty for some of the children present and made each other happy. Lights burned on the shore like stars in the daylight.

What a thing to come home to. Nerdanel felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes, the first in a long time. She truly, truly hoped that her son could be there to see it. 

(Moreover, she tries not to think, that he won’t garner a much different reaction when the Teleri see his face in Alqualondë again.)

When the first specks of the ships appear over the horizon, Wiryarë and Kinnlel are at her side again, somehow. 

“There you are!” Kinnlel says, half-accusing.

“Here I am,” Nerdanel said, distracted.

Wiryarë followed her gaze. “It’s exciting,” she said. “I told you I have no kin on those ships. But some time here has changed my mind.” She spread her arm around. “Everyone here is my kin. Their loved ones are mine. I’m delighted as if I were their blood.”

“Don’t mind her,” Kinnlel said. “She’s had some mead. And burned something recreational, I think, although she won’t tell me what.”

“It’s still true!” Wiryarë insisted.

Kinnlel nuzzled her and laughed in agreement. Nerdanel smiled faintly at them. They were sweeter than her and Feänor had been, maybe, but she couldn’t help but remember the way they used to be. 

Finally, the ships skirted Tol Eresseä and brought themselves to port in Alqualondë (although, Nerdanel understood, they would be spending most of their time on the Island, like many of the Exiles that had already returned.)

The crowd around her vibrated in anticipation. Nerdanel blanked out the stark raving terror in her head and tried to feel excited.

The anchors fell, the ships opened their decks, and time was a bit of a blur to Nerdanel after that.

She was pretty sure Kinnlel’s family were some of the first to come out. It was odd, for an Avarin family, but it was also odd for Elves to be sundered in such a way. Either way, she was happy for her friend.

As Kinnlel introduced them to their daughter-in-law, Noldor emerged. Enough emptied from the ship that Nerdanel could be convinced that this was the last of the Noldor in Middle Earth. They made their way almost sheepishly into the city, perhaps deservedly anxious at their reception.

They needn’t have worried. All grudges had been laid to rest, all the pain between the Elven kindreds. The Teleri clasped them like returning friends.

Nerdanel was hopeful at the sight of it. Maybe -

Next to emerge was Artanis - Galadriel, now, and a queen in her own right.

If she was anything like the Artanis Nerdanel remembered, she would have trouble without a crown in Valinor. She quirked a smile at the thought.

Their eyes met over the crowd. Galadriel’s widened.

“Aunt Nerdanel?” she asked, like she was young again.

Nerdanel made her way up to the ship. She kissed her niece’s cheek in greeting. “The very same,” she said. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Galadriel said.

“Me neither.”

“I’m glad you’re here now. I have someone I’d like you to meet,” she said. “Though you’ll have to come below deck to do it.”

Nerdanel smiled faintly. “Well, alright,” she said, although her thoughts were already turning to Makalaurë.

Inside the ship there are only a few Elves. The sounds of the party outside drift in only faintly. A lantern burns in the corner, sealed in Elven-glass in a design unfamiliar to her. 

“This,” Galadriel said, gesturing towards a figure in the dark, “is Elrond. My son in law, the Half-Elven, they call him.”

The figure stood up straight, as though startled. It turned towards Nerdanel and stepped out into the light, and Nerdanel looked on Elwing and Eärendil’s son. The man her sons had orphaned in all but the most literal way.

The man looked young, never having quite succeeded in getting rid of his baby-face, but with the weight of many years upon him. It pained her to know where some of that weight must have come from. He bowed towards Nerdanel.

“Greetings,” he said. “I have heard much of you.”

“Well I haven’t!” chimed a voice from behind him. Nerdanel barely stopped from laughing aloud at the sight of the little creature that stepped out behind the Elf. 

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” the little - Man? - said, extending a hand like Tuor. 

Nerdanel shook it, allowing herself to giggle. “Nerdanel, at yours,” she said.

“That’s it? No titles, no ‘of the Wooded Glen’ or anything like that?”

“Oh,” Nerdanel said, “I have a title or two I could throw at you. But I fear we would just be wasting time.”

After she was fairly sure she had met everyone in the hold, including a shy, quiet little Hobbit named Frodo, Galadriel’s face turned serious. “I shan’t mince words,” she said, nodding at Elrond. “Aunt Nerdanel, you look upon your grandson.”

Nerdanel looked at Galadriel, then at the Hobbits, as though they could provide some answers. Bilbo just shrugged.

“After the attack on the Havens, all those years ago,” Elrond said, “My brother and I were brought up by Maedhros and Maglor.”

It took her a moment to remember the Sindarin names, the names her boys were known by through history. “Brought… up?” she asked. She had never heard this before. Had nobody told her? Was the news lost in the flood of information from Middle Earth after the return?

Of course she had heard that they had spared the Peredhel boys. But what then?

“I see,” she said, after a few moments.

Elrond shifted his feet. “I will always be the son of Eärendil and Elwing,” he said, although Nerdanel never doubted it. “But one can have more than one father.”

“I think that is wise,” Bilbo said, nodding.

“That is - that is…” Nerdanel stumbled over her own words for a few moments. “That is, good to know. Thank you for telling me. If that is what I can remember of my sons now, then you have given me a great gift.”

Elrond and Galadriel looked at one another. “How well can you keep a secret?” he asked Nerdanel.

“Oh, very well,” Galadriel answered for her. 

Elrond was silent for a few, heart-rending moments. Then, he nodded towards the shadows.

As it turns out, she hadn’t quite met everyone on the ship. Another stood, casting off a blanket that had been hanging loosely on him. In another life, long after this, Nerdanel would find his attempts to hide hysterical, but also couldn’t deny that it fooled her.

Makalaurë stepped into the hold of the ship and held his mother’s gaze. 

“I must say,” Bilbo was the first to speak, “he’s a nice fellow. I’m not sure what all the secrecy is about, but I like it. One last adventure.”

He coughed. “I should probably be going,” he said, reading the room. “People, places to see, whatnot. Come along, Frodo.”

The Hobbits left the hold, but not without first exchanging a smile with Makalaurë. Her son’s was gentle, hesitant, nervous, and he hardly took his eyes off of his mother.

“I-” He coughed, cutting himself off. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” Nerdanel said, her heart in her throat.

“You, um,” he continued, wringing his hands. They were scarred, rough with burn marks. Nerdanel longed to hold them, rub a salve on them as much good as it would do.

She stepped forward, almost without realizing it. Her son tensed as though she were about to attack him.

She embraced him, held him close, brought his head down into the crook of her neck even though it had been many years since he had been shorter than her.

“You’re home,” she said, overcome with the vastness of those words. “You’re home. You’re home.”

The concerns of his reception in Alqualondë, her worries about his acclimation, even the presence of Elrond and Galadriel in the ship faded to the side. None of it mattered now.

“I’m… home,” he said, testing those words, finding them to be true.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of linguistic notes, since it wouldn't be a Tolkien fic without some of those -
> 
> Kinnlel's name is based on one of the tribes of the Avari, the Kinn-lai. Her name is meant to mean something like "Star-Elf", since I'm imaging "lel" might share a Primitive Quendi root with modern day "el".
> 
> As for Wiryarë. Look, her name HAD a meaning, I think, but I forgot to write it down and now it's lost to time. If anyone here knows Quenya, feel free to point it out :P


End file.
